Soiree
by Aimsaru
Summary: Bolin and Asami have been dating for a while but Bolin cant help but feel insecure. Especially tonight, when she is being unusually cold. He doesn't want to worry, doesn't want to question, but she's always been good at holding everything inside and he has never been very good at reading her expressions.


He loved the way her nose wrinkled when he called it a _party_ and she corrected him with the word _soiree._

"This isn't just some get together with friends and drinks," She admonished.

"No, it's a party with stuffy business men, stuffier lawyers, and the stuffiest of them all… politicians."

She sucked her teeth in frustration, green eyes glinting, "It's a soiree. And you _will_ be on your best behavior"

"But of course, Madame," he flourished with a bow, his wrist flicking over his head in bravado.

"_Funny_," she deadpanned, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. Bolin cringed as she stomped away down the hall, hair brushing her back as it swayed back and forth with her every punctuated step.

He was at her side in three large strides. He reached out with strong hands and lightly gripped her shoulder, rolling her into his arms until her hands were lying flat on his chest, between them.

His fingers wound their way into her hair, sliding through the strands and pulling them into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Her eyes were slanted to the side, away from his gaze and he swallowed nervously, loosing her silken mane before moving to cup her chin, hoping to engage her. Within moments her eyes met his, and his heart fluttered at the sight of that mossy green.

Without her heels, he matched her height. It was something that he'd always liked, being able to look directly into her eyes and easily kiss her soft lips, lips that were currently pressed thinly into a frown. He missed her usual pucker, and it may have been for that reason that he pouted so egregiously at her now.

"Hey," he whispered seriously, pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "I know tonight is important for you. I won't do anything to mess it up, I swear."

She shook her head morosely, "I need to get ready, Bo."

Asami disentangled herself from his arms and continued her trek down the hall, to her bedroom.

He let her go.

Bolin sighed, scratching the back of his head and followed behind her slowly. He tried not to take it personally.

Tonight Asami would be schmoozing with the elite, her first time doing so since she had taken over full ownership of Future Industries. It was a big deal for her to resurrect her father's legacy. To bring back his good name after knowledge of his involvement with the Equalists got out, and then his death during the war. It had been an uphill battle for Asami, fighting with the shareholders and executives to secure her right to the family business. But she had done it. Tonight was a celebration of her accomplishments (as well as the twentieth anniversary of Future Industries' creation).

He was so proud of her, she was amazing.

It was at times like these that he wondered why she stayed with him. Her high class lifestyle and fancy…everything. What would a woman like Asami Sato want with an orphaned street rat, former pro-bending, Metal-bending Cop? What could he give her?

His feelings were further complicated by the fact that the Sato heiress wanted to keep their relationship a secret.

_For now_, she said. And when she implored him with those beautiful eyes and that soft expression, well, what was a man to do?

It had taken him years to have her look at him as more than a brother and for him to see the beautiful woman she had become. As soon as he had removed his head from his ass and matured past fan girls and the hero worship of a certain best friend and Avatar. She just landed in his lap, a complete surprise.

He wouldn't let her get away. He would accept what she was willing to offer, even if it hurt, more than he would admit that she wouldn't acknowledge their relationship publically.

He turned the corner into her bedroom and his breath caught in his throat. Asami was sitting on the bed, one long leg crossed over the other delicately as she rolled her panty hose expertly over her calf and up her thigh, attaching the thicker band of material at the top to a lace garter strap.

She ignored his stare as he followed her movements with his eyes until all four straps were clasped to her stockings. When she was done she stood, smoothing down the Champaign colored slip that only just covered her hips and the tops of her thighs.

She practically sashayed to the closet, slipping her feet into a pair of heels before moving to her vanity table. Bolin grinned, she was very aware of what she was doing.

He loved watching her get ready for an event. She knew it and she was putting on a show.

Her vanity was all dark stained, thick oak with an oval mirror surrounded by five bright lamps. The bench she sat on was cushioned in deep burgundy velvet, matching the silk linens on her four poster bed.

Bolin sat on the edge of her mattress, watching her as she brushed her natural curls into tame waves. His fingers tracing the gold embroidered flowers of the duvet idly.

Asami began the process of lightly moisturizing her face and then dusting a thin sheen of powder over her soft skin.

Bolin knew her pattern now; next she would begin to enhance her eyelids. She didn't need any of it, and he had told her that on multiple occasions.

Asami had just pursed her lips and tried to explain it in a way he could make sense of.

She called it her "_game face_" and that was something that the former pro-bender could understand. All players had a way to psyche themselves up before a match, a way to feel confident and shake away nervous energy.

Besides, he liked having these moments to just watch her when she was relaxing into this routine.

There was something so _intimate_ about viewing her this way. It filled him with the same warmth that he felt upon waking beside her, being the first person to see her at the beginning of her day. Being the only person to bare witness to the way she stretched or yawned. The way her pale fingers curled under her pillow as she snuggled under the blankets, hair a mess, and sleepy eyes glowing like springtime in the morning light.

Thick fringed green eyes met his in the mirror and Bolin could feel his pulse spike as Asami gripped her favorite tube of rogue and began to smooth it over her lips. Her mouth a perfect O shape that made his blood hot and his skin flush.

She stood gracefully, leaning over the wooden table until Bolin could see the curve of her ass just peeking out below her slip. She adjusted a miniscule smudge of red at the corner of her mouth and bounced her curls over her shoulder with the back of a pale hand. All for his benefit, Bolin was sure, before standing to her full height and walking to her over-large closet, where her dress for the evening was hanging, freshly laundered and pressed.

Bolin jumped to his feet, striding into the closet and wrapping muscular arms around her tiny waist, his nose nudging the back of her ear, breathing in the sweet scent of orchid, rose water, and lily that he had begun to associate with just her. _Asami._

The silk of her slip was cool against his hands, and he splayed his fingers, until he could almost span the width of her stomach between his thumb and pinky.

He slid his hand north, to the valley of her breast and her breathing became stuttered. She was always so responsive to his touch.

He twisted a nipple through the fabric, palming at the rounded flesh as his other hand began the long journey from her belly button down to the apex of her thighs.

"Asami," he breathed, and she moaned. She was shaking in the cage of his arms as she lifted her hands over his own, pushing it farther south. His palm slipped over the fabric, reaching the lace hem under her guidance and slipping underneath, expecting to meet the cover of her underwear.

He gasped in surprise as his fingers met thick curls and slick folds. She laughed, her head rolling back against his shoulder.

"No underwear, Ms. Sato?"

"Are you going to arrest me, Officer?" her breath hitched as two fingers slid into her, her toes curling inside of her shoes.

He groaned, "Oh, you're so ready."

"We'll be late to the party…"

"_Soiree_," he corrected.

"Mm, it would be very naughty to be late for a _soiree_ for my own company."

"Think of it as making an entrance."

"Fashionably late?"

"Mm," the power of speech was escaping him. She felt so good, too good under his ministrations. He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit and she moaned, her hands leaving his.

She wriggled in his arms and he was forced to let her go, his eyes heavy lidded and disoriented.

He watched as she grabbed onto the metal hanging rod with both hands, shoving hangers aside with a metallic clinking and a swish of expensive fabrics.

She was bent over, her arms hanging above her head as she bent at the waist, her high heels forcing her ass into the air, legs shoulder width apart and inviting.

She peered over her shoulder at him, "Like this," she intoned, and her voice was peaches and cream, deep and seductive. It roused him from his temporary stupor.

He unbuckled his pants, sliding down the zipper and freeing himself before moving behind her and rubbing circles into her hips with his hands.

His cock bumped against her ass and thigh and she waggled her hips, trying to reach him; practically sobbing with need.

"Bo—"

His nickname from her lips was enough; he aligned himself with her body and with one careful shove, was sheathed inside of her heat.

He gripped her tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh just below her lace garter belt. He thrust into her, using her position to pull her back against him, rocking her back and forth on her heels. Her ass was making a delightful slapping noise as it collided with his thighs.

He bent over her, kissing her spine, just between her shoulder blades and the movement drove him deeper. She cried out and he knew that he was hitting that spot, the spot that was too good for both of them. They weren't going to last.

His legs were quaking from the strain as he slammed into her, harder, faster; egged on by her moans, her pleading sighs, and gasping breath.

"Oh Spirits! Bolin!" she was clenching around him, singing out in exultation and then he was spilling into her, holding her close and loving the way their bodies pulsed together.

He yelped as his legs gave out and she let go of the closet rod, falling into his arms in a heap.

Bolin smiled down at her, brushing her hair out of her face and kissing her temple and down to her cheek.

He hovered over her lips and she turned away, his mouth landing on her chin instead.

He covered his feeling of hurt, burying it quickly.

_Is she worried about her makeup or does she just not want to kiss me? _

He hated feeling so insecure. No other woman could make him feel this way. He looked at her expression and she still looked tense, her mind obviously elsewhere.

"Did that help with your stress?" he asked in an attempt to lighten her mood. Hoping for an ear splitting grin or at least a mischievous glimmer in those eyes he had grown to love.

"A little," she admitted her back to him as she untangled herself from his hold and stood on still shaking legs. Bolin reached out, grasping her hand and halting her movement.

Asami turned to him with round curious eyes, "Bo?"

He scrutinized her expression for a long moment before letting her hand fall from his, "Nevermind, It's nothing. We should go. We're going to be late."

_He had never been able to read her expressions anyway._

He sighed as she went to clean up, fix her hair and makeup, and make herself beautiful for a room full of people who would never care for her the way that he did.


End file.
